If There's Any Justice
by Redhead Maniac
Summary: FLANDUS! Norman and Sean have been in a relationship for the past 3 years. The two lovers haven's seen each other in two months, and when Sean finally decides to call up one night, he doesn't expect the words that pour out of the artist's mouth. Although really, he shouldn't be surprised at all, considering he gave birth to the whole sham in the first place.
1. That all?

He's all fucked up and he knows it. He doesn't try to hide it, although his gentle smiles, goofy attitude and passion for work and art make for a good cover. He's admitted to it in public on several occasions, but most people tend to glaze over it, choose not to linger on that detail, less it shatters their image of him.

He's fine with it, doesn't think too much about it. Except at times like this, when his mind is haunted by blue eyes with merry crinkles in the corners, the sound of a boisterous laugh and the ever-changing accents.

Perhaps there are only two people other than his son who know just how fucked up Norman really is.

He chews on his fingernail, staring at the lit screen of his phone and seemingly unable to push the call button. He really doesn't want to be alone right now. You would have thought that a quiet night among the crazy filming schedule and the never-ending cons would be a blessing, a much needed reprieve. Instead he just feels tired and lonely.

Maybe it's the age, he tries to convince himself. But he knows that's a blatant lie. And he hates lying.

He exits the phonebook and opens the messages instead, then types "how's it going?" and hits send before he can chicken out. The reply is almost instantaneous and Norman cracks a smile at the buzzing of his phone "Thought you'd never ask, Reedenstein! Grand, you?".

Norman chances a glance at the large window overlooking the New York City. The deep blue colours of the night seem to only intensify his somber mood.

He's clumsy with his stupid fat fingers, so he has to hit erase twice before he gets the message error-free "good. Kinda bored".

Sean doesn't reply for the next fifteen minutes, so Reedus takes his time in a game of guessing. Maybe he's on set. Or walking Donut, or has someone over. The last thought stings especially hard and Norman reaches for his lighter.

As the dove-coloured smoke exits his lungs into the still air of the living room, his iPhone finally vibrates again, but this time the little shakes are accompanied by a burst of sound.

_This ain't impossible _

_This ain't improbable_

_You are my baby tonight_

_And I'm your daddy_

He almost sputters on the inhale, eyes going wide as he sees the caller ID. Then, finally, he lets out a small chuckle akin to a snort. Of course. So that's what Sean was doing tinkering with his phone on their last meet-up.

_This ain't believable _

_This ain't predictable _

_You are my baby tonight _

_And I'm your daddy_

Still smiling, he finally picks up the phone. "Hey Daddy" he says in a derisive voice, batting his lashes without realising that Flanery can't really see him.

Howls of laughter come pouring through his cell phone "Aha! Ma sweet lil' girl finally admits she's missed me!".

Norman scoffs and rolls his eyes "Not a chance, asshole". He still manages to keep on smiling though, because hearing Sean's voice after two long months of silence is similar to getting a fix. It's almost scary, that thought, so Norman shoves it into the furthest corner of his mind.

"You're the one who called, what's up with that?"

"Ow, ye hurt me feelings, brother dear" Reedus is used to the man switching into his accents and roles like breathing. Then suddenly Sean's voice grows serious, none of his good-natured mockery present this time around "Dunno, you sounded upset. And before you ask, yes, the messages do have a tone too!" Sean coughs, then carries on. "Come on, you're never bored. What's crawled inside you, eh?"

"Except you?" smirks Norman, balancing the phone with his shoulder, pressing it against his ear as he reaches forward and snatches a beer off the table.

"Ha-ha, very funny, Reedus. Now come on, what's up?" Norman licks his lips in sudden nervousness, then closes his eyes and decides to be out with it. What's the worst that can happen, right?

" 'M dating" it comes out flatly, like a slap to the face, and Norman winces. He didn't mean to sound like a jerk. But then again, he muses, how can you not sound like a jerk when telling something like this to your boyfriend?

There is a tension-filled pause on the other end of the line, and then Norman hears Sean's raspy voice "I...see."

Maybe it's the three beers he's had tonight, but suddenly Norman feels a white-hot jolt of anger bubbling inside him. He snaps "The fuck? That all you gotta say?". He is seething, fingers clenching the glass neck of the bottle so tight his knuckles turn pale.

"Well, what did you expect me to say?" Sean sounds pissed off now. "Was I to say "How nice, congrats!" and send you a fucking postcard?!"

"No! But you could've said at least something!" a brief thought of _there goes my nice, quiet little evening_ flitters through his mind. Sure, they've been dating for three years now, but it was Sean's fucking idea to keep it in the dark. Norman can't even remember the arguments that held up such a stupid fucking decision, but it was what it was. And it was Sean who deemed it necessary to have a cover-up girlfriend. Hell, he even urged Norman to do the same. And after many stubborn glares and elusive answers to the paparazzi, Norman finally decided to give in. Just for the cover, just so that everybody around him would stop sicking the metaphorical dogs on his relationship-less life. He was sick and tired of the whole sham.

So he went ahead and got himself a girlfriend. A girl-_friend_.

He still feels like a cheater, though.

"It was your stupid fucking idea! You told me to get a girlfriend, remember?" Norman snaps into the phone.

"Sure" Sean sounds impassive, and that makes Norman clench his teeth on the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He wants to smack the bastard upside the head. Good thing he is far away.

"That all you wanted to tell me?" the cool voice drifts into his ear.

"Yes" he snaps.

"Look, Reedus, it's cool. We're cool. I understand".

_The fuck you do_, Norman thinks. Instead, he says "Yeah, well, you better. I ain't the one who started it anyway". He knows he sounds bitter, and honestly, what _did_ he expect? That by some miracle Sean would become so appalled by the new bit of information that he would altogether drop the act? Man up and publicly come out? No, of course not. No way he would do that. This is Sean — the walking epitome of human masculinity, the breathing, talking definition of macho in the dictionary.

Reedus scoffs, desperately clutching to his last remains of a calm demeanour, which went to Hell about a minute ago. He needs to finish this conversation as fast and painless as possible, get back to his drinking and forget that Sean ever called. Then he can pretend that nothing really happened and everything is back to normal, back to their fucked up, hidden relationship. That he doesn't have a new unofficial girlfriend, that he would rather talk to his cat than see her pretty face and sit through some agonising meet-ups at a cafè, wishing it was Sean sitting across from him instead.

"Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later, alright?" Norman inquires in a tired voice.

Sean's gentle reply is so out of place it sends shivers down Norman's arms "Sure, Pup. Have a good night".

Reedus pulls the phone away from his ear and hits the red button, efficiently ending the call. He thinks that maybe he needs something a tad stronger than beer.

Then, maybe, he won't end up wallowing in self-pity 'til the early hours of the morning.

Of course, this is complete bullshit; he ends up wallowing anyway.


	2. That fear that you can't shift the tide

The next day Norman doesn't find the customary "mornin Pup!" message as he groggily gets out of bed. The chances that Sean is still asleep at 13:00 are pretty much non-existent; the man is a fucking lark and never misses out on his morning runs. If the short conversation yesterday didn't indicate that something is off, then this sure as hell does. In fact, it rings a huge-ass, loud bell.

Trying to ignore another passing pang of bitterness, Reedus carries on his usual routine — cleaning up, pulling on his well-worn jeans and a grey sweater, feeding Eye In The Dark and having a smoke on the way to the small coffee shop he likes to visit at the start of his day.

He is, after all, a creature of habit.

Today is clear of any appointments or work-related shit, so he decides to simply enjoy a casual stroll through the park.

That, of course, is the moment his new girlfriend decides to give him a call.

Picking up the phone, Norman tries to sound as normal as possible, even if he feels like shit and talking to her does nothing to improve his already sourpuss mood.

He pauses his gait, stuffing one hand in the pocket of his jeans.

"Hey babe, what's up?" years of practice come in handy at sounding upbeat and carefree.

The girl gives a tinkering laugh through the phone, "Hey beautiful! Figured you'd still be asleep, so I wanted to make sure you were up and around _at least_ by three!"

He doesn't fucking get since when it became her fucking business. Do women always tighten the reins at the three-day-mark after getting into a relationship? He feels irked, but decides to let it slip and be polite instead. The girl doesn't need to be blamed for his mood-swings _or_ his un-boyfriend-like behaviour. No, of course not.

_Sean_ does.

There mere thought of him makes his blood boil and tension sip into his back. Norman rolls his shoulders, trying to ease the tightening of the muscles and looks everywhere but ahead of him. He can hear the birds singing and the gentle buzz of children's voices somewhere further up the alley. It's a nice day. Well, it would be.

"Um, yeah, sure. I'm up. Thanks for worrying though." He knows he sounds kind of airy, but he honestly can't bring himself to catch every word uttered by Alicia.

"Well, what are you up to? Want to meet for lunch?" She sounds excited and Reedus has to swallow the guilt crawling its way up his chest.

He licks his lips and thinks about it for a second. "Actually, I was having a walk in the park... But I guess lunch does sound nice." Norman hasn't really eaten apart from that bagel with his morning coffee, so the prospect of food seems to be rather appealing at the moment. Never mind his lacking desire for company.

"Great! Then come meet me at Drifters in an hour?"

"Sure. See you later, babe."

She makes a kissing noise and he winces. Looks like everything about Alicia miffs him now. He doesn't even remember why he'd asked her out in the first place. Probably her pretty smile, long brown hair and kind, wide eyes that reminded him of a doe.

The fact that he was drunk off his ass adds up to that list as well. In fact, it's right at the fucking top of it.

He makes it to Drifters in just under fifty minutes, surprised when he actually sees her waving at him from the table across the room. He would've expected her to be late.

Smiling despite his somber mood, Norman makes his way towards the brunette and bends down, briefly kissing her on the cheek. After all, she doesn't deserve to deal with his crap.

This thought keeps on running through his head, helping him control the inner turmoil.

She looks pretty.

Fuck, does he want to smash something against the table and saddle up his bike, only to drive for hours without a real purpose. That would definitely help him clear his head.

Okay, so maybe he's overreacting a bit.

Okay, maybe more than a bit. But he wants to, thinks he _deserves to_ have a tantrum, a breakdown.

After all the crap Flanery's put him through? Yeah, he's allowed to be pissed as hell and desire to break stuff. Let off some steam.

Fuck Sean and his two-facedness.

He can't help but feel like a two-faced liar himself as he tries to avoid Alicia's gaze.

"Hey babe, you're fast" Norman slides into the opposite side of the booth, hearing her chuckle and briefly wondering why couldn't he like a light, tinkering laugh instead of a loud, boisterous one. One way or another, the sound of her tender voice helps him snap out of his bitter mental tirade, if only for a minute.

"Oh well, next time just let me know if you want me to validate the myth about women's tardiness. I can always arrange that" She gives him a brilliant smile and Norman realises she's flirting with him. He feels a bit flustered and uncomfortable with the whole situation, now that he's sober. Still, he suddenly appreciates the distraction from his gloomy thoughts.

He gives a little snort and shakes his head, picking up the menu and busying himself with choosing the food, so that he doesn't have to look at her for more than five seconds at a time. Not that she's offputting, quiet the opposite, actually. All long legs, flaring hips and tan skin. She could've easily been a model, if she chose to. But she's an artist instead. In fact, they've met at her presentation and seemed to hit it right off from the start, carrying on to the after party.

"Ah, no, thanks" He chuckles, "I'd rather have you on time than wait. Besides, unconventional is good."

Alicia nods and brings up her own menu, studying what appears to be the salad section of the page.

This sparks another thought of Sean. Health-freaks. He seriously doesn't know how some people willingly deprive themselves of all the good, greasy stuff. He sure as hell can't and won't. He likes his calories and tastebud-paradise, thank you very much. Besides, he gets to burn off all of that stuff during filming, what's with the hot Georgian sun and so much running in the woods.

When the waitress comes, Norman gives her a small smile and places their order.

"So, how you've been, babe?" Reedus looks up at Alicia, unconsciously playing with the edge of his napkin, folding and unfolding it in a repeating succession. At least he tries to make a decent conversation.

"Not bad. Actually, I've received an invitation to some fancy art-show yesterday. They're asking me to contribute a couple of works and I'm considering doing it. What do you think?" Norman doesn't see her eyes sparkling with excitement, because he's staring at his hands.

"Norman?" She tries again, louder this time.

"Huh?" He snaps out of his reverie and looks up, noticing the silent question burning in her eyes.

"Ah, sorry, got a bit, yanno, lost in thoughts. Sorry. Could you ask that again?"

Instead of rolling her eyes like he would've expected her to, Alicia smiles and nods, repeating herself without a bother.

"Yeah, I think that'd be great." He tries to sound excited and pay closer attention as she launches into another story about one exhibition or the other. But he catches only snippets of information, nodding and going as far as to smile when she starts using her hands in pure excitement.

Sometime through their meal Alicia puts her utensils down and looks seriously at Norman.

"Is everything okay? You're awfully quiet."

Reedus gives a gentle chuckle after swallowing down a piece of meat "Yeah, I'm good, don't worry." He prays to God she hasn't noticed his absentmindedness and lack of interest in the conversation. He might be a sucker for art, but all the fancy talk about the business part of it? Definitely not his pick. "I'm pretty introverted, you know. I'd rather listen than talk." She looks a bit surprised, so he decides to clarify himself "But you can't shut me up when I'm drunk."

Alicia laughs at his blunt statement, seeming to catch onto his words. However, this doesn't seem to faze her too much.

"That's alright. I guess there's still a lot to learn about each other, huh? And I love a good listener. Especially when he's such a handsome devil." She smirks and narrows her eyes at him, and Norman feels his fingers clasp the tattered napkin harder. He doesn't do well with compliments, although he _should_ be used to receiving them by now.

It's still awkward as fuck.

"You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart." He tries to return the compliment.

"Why thanks!" Her laughter rings in his head long after they leave and part ways, him kissing her on the cheek and pulling away, only to be caught off-guard by her hand on his neck and a chaste, sweet kiss to the lips.

He smokes four cigarettes on the way home, head pounding with a heavy, swarming mess dabbed as his thoughts. It's autumn, but Norman feels too hot, too bothered in his long-sleeved turtleneck. He can feel the sweat rolling down between his shoulder-blades. Breathing becomes a conscious task, taking each step even more so. It's like he's suddenly hyper aware of his body and it makes him want to throw up.

He wishes he could barf his thoughts out too, along with his meal.

His mind, it's all a mess about Sean, and Alicia, and cons, and Mingus, and Sean, and Alicia, SeanSeanSean.

The bitter pang of pain come surging again, and with it comes the anger. He doesn't remember how he gets home, just blindly slams the keys into the hole, jiggling them around to twist the locks open. All the while he can feel each intake of his breath, fingers going slightly numb. Finally, he rushes inside with a cool breeze of air.

He doesn't exactly remember how he pulls off his sweater either. It's all a maddening haze. The thump of his beloved shoes thrown to the floor, the quiet, murmured curse escaping his dry lips, the slamming of the doors as he goes from room to room, until, finally, his eyes set on a box of paints, left out from his previous session.

Then the hurt, the guilt and the anger suddenly click into place.

It takes a split second to decide that he's not going to use canvas for this one. Norman quickly rushes around the flat, looking in every nook and cranny for that white piece of tablecloth he was never going to use anyway, until he finally finds it in one of the kitchen cupboards. He stretches it out on the wall, using pins and duct tape, not at all bothered by the lack of accuracy and tidiness. His brain does a complete shutdown as his hands begin to work, opening the messy cases, taking out the old palette and smearing a range of colours onto the wooden surface.

The first splash of midnight-blue against the pristine white cloth is like a revelation. The thick paint drips off his fingertips as he smears the carmine around the edges, leaving almost bloody fingerprints, making it seem like somebody dying from a bleeding wound was trying to crawl up the cloth, to reach as high as they could, as if that'd bring salvation to their tortured soul.

There is no conscious process as to what he's doing as Norman claws and punches and rubs and strokes at the improvised canvas, which are getting heavier with paint by the minute.

When there is a single speck of white remaining, Norman slides down onto the floor, his breathing heavy in the silence of the flat. He allows his eyes to drift shut, hands unconsciously going up to cover his face and tangle in his brown hair.

A quiet sniff escapes his tight throat as the oily, blue paint leaves ugly smudges on his skin.

He's a crybaby. God knows he should be beating a punching bag or running, or doing some other shit men are supposed to do instead of having an emotional breakdown. Not rubbing their faces with paint-covered fingers, mixing midnight blue with translucent tears.

As Norman lifts his red-rimmed eyes towards the dark ceiling, sitting under his 'artwork', he wishes things went different.

He wishes Sean would come home and all of this would turn into a bad dream, would disappear like the mist in the morning.

He fumbles for a pack of cigarettes stashed in the back pocket of his jeans and takes one stick out, putting it in his mouth. The soft click of the lighter illuminates his paint-chipped fingers, then everything goes back into the darkness, the glowing cherry of his cigarette the only reminder that he's still alive and breathing.

Norman makes no sound sitting on the cold floor of his office and staring off into space.

He doesn't notice as the light starts spilling through the large windows.

His head is empty, his feelings numb.

It's morning.


End file.
